She finally took out her paper and pen to write Ezekiel back, tears falling on the pages as she poured out her heart. She sent the letter immediately, afraid that if she let it sit there any longer, she might grab it back and never reach out to him again.
She still went weekly over to Ezekiel’s farm and cleaned his house. She stripped the sheets from the beds and laundered them, hanging them out to dry. She picked fresh flowers for the kitchen and kept the original note she’d written nearly two years ago on the table. She hoped every week that it’d be the last time she had to come here alone again. Her mother had accompanied her at first, not wanting anyone to think ill of Rebekah for traveling alone. As word had spread throughout the community about Ezekiel’s plight, Adelaide Beiler had realized that there was no need to worry over gossip. From then on, she’d all but insisted that Rebekah attend to his home by herself.
“It will one day be your home Rebekah. Taking care of it now, while Ezekiel is gone, is a good act of stewardship, to show God just how much it and Ezekiel mean to you.”
So, that first time alone, Rebekah had poured her heart into a short note and left it on the table to greet Ezekiel when he finally came home. The sad thing was that the paper was already turning yellow from age. Still, Rebekah left it there, hoping beyond hope every time she saw it that it’d be the last time. That next week, Rebekah headed into town to grab some essentials her mother needed and to pick up some fabric she’d ordered for a new dress. She stopped by the dry goods section of the store and picked up what her mother had written down. Then she picked up her ordered fabric, smiling as she ran a hand over its cool texture. It was when she headed for the cold foods section that she overheard a bit of English gossip that made her heart speed up.
“Mark my words bucko, Germany will surrender to the allied forces before the summer starts. We’re pushing them back in numbers they simply can’t afford to replace.”
“No way Mack.” the other gentleman chuckled. “Germany will rally at the last minute and deliver a blow that will knock all the allied forces back two steps.”
“Nope, no way. However, if you’d like to wager on it.” the man laughed. Rebekah didn’t stay to hear anymore, especially since spying, even for a good cause, was looked down upon. Still, she couldn’t dismiss the hope that flamed to life inside her heart. She’d been ready to release Ezekiel from their marriage contract and now she had a glowing flame of hope that they just might have their happily-ever-after, after all.” She recalled the question Ezekiel had asked in one of his first letters.
Will you still marry me Rebekah?
The reply she’d sent in her next correspondence had been so easy to write. It had flowed from her heart as if it had a mind of its own. I’ll marry you anytime, anywhere. As she headed home that afternoon, she knew it was still true. She knew that she’d still marry Ezekiel Miller, no matter the time or place. Everyone could show up in their work clothes for all she cared. All she wanted was to realize that First Corinthians 13 was real. She wanted to be a testament that love does in fact, endure all things.
The reply she’d sent in her next correspondence had been so easy to write. It had flowed from her heart as if it had a mind of its own. I’ll marry you anytime, anywhere.
Rebekah was leaving the General Store, her arms full of purchases and her skin began to tingle. She turned, slowly. Her eyes widened, her heart began to pound so hard, her very breath wooshed out of her body. She couldn’t believe it… but she knew, it was not a dream. She dropped everything, and ran. Ran to the man that had held her heart for so many years that she couldn’t remember a time when she didn’t love him.
He smiled for her. Beamed as she raced toward him. His eyes filled with tears. Zeke opened his arms and Rebekah was there, in his arms, squeezing him back. They laughed and cried together. Zeke murmured into Rebekah’s hair, “My Rebekah. Oh, how I have missed you.” She tried to speak but she was overwhelmed with emotion. So long she had waited for him. He came back to her. She thanked Heaven above for bringing him back to her.
People started gathering around them and saying a prayer, thankful that Zeke had been returned to their family. They squeezed his arm in kind acknowledgement and left the young couple to continue their homecoming.
As they headed home that afternoon, Rebekah knew it was still true. She knew that she’d still marry Ezekiel Miller, no matter the time or place. Everyone could show up in their work clothes for all she cared. All she wanted was to realize that First Corinthians 13 was real. She wanted to be a testament that Love Endures All.
THE END
Bonus Story 6 of 20
Crime of Love
The town was never quite sleepy or silent, even in the dead of night. Jackrabbits and coyotes came out to tussle in the blue moonlight and tumbleweed traveled on in the dusty swirl of the desert. Occasionally, a drunk cowboy stumbled out onto the wooden deck of the saloon, blindly scrambling around to find his horse, or better yet, his footing.
As the week drew to its close, the town grew busier and louder. The nights grew longer, and the Bandit Kid saloon often found itself submerged in a throng of alcohol and leather hats. The sun had set, its only remnants on the horizon a dying ember orange, and cool night had trickled in to paint the skies cobalt blue.
Raucous laughter and grating voices could be heard beyond the swinging batwing doors as Colin Hayes approached the saloon. The crunch of gravel under his boots seemed obnoxiously loud in the early night, though his footsteps were almost drowned out by the loud music and chorus of voices. He made his way through the batwing doors of the saloon, footsteps causing a few heads to turn his way. A few of the men inside recognized him and hollered their greetings.
Colin returned them somewhat uncertainly – he was no delicate daffodil, but despite having moved in about two months ago, he was still unfamiliar with the ease with which everyone in this small town seemed to relate to each other. He suspected it had something to do with growing up in a merchant family. Or perhaps it was an English trait. It wasn’t as if he was new to America; his family had sailed over just two years ago to expand their trading business. They had remained mainly in the East, though. It hadn’t been until recently that they had thought to expand to the West, where it seemed people were arriving by the hundreds, in the hopes of striking it rich. “It’ll be good business,” his father had insisted. His mother has been less certain, so they had eventually reached a compromise. They would stay in the West for six months to see how business was. If that didn’t work out, they would head back to Europe, where they were certain of the market. As it turned out, things had been going okay for the business in the West. It certainly didn’t turn out a huge profit, but Colin figured it was mostly because of their location. So two months into their six month trial, they packed up and moved over to Copper Creek, where miners had been steadily streaming in for the past couple of months. A large vein of copper had recently been found, it seemed, in addition to some other valuable minerals. Moving to Copper Creek had been a good decision. Business grew steadily, and had recently begun to take off, much to the surprise of his mother and satisfaction of his father.
They had left the shop in his care whilst on a trip out of town for a few weeks. It was the first time Colin had felt quite so alone throughout the entire trip. His older brother had remained behind in Europe to manage the family business there, so aside from the occasional telegram or letter, he was truly and utterly alone.
But he didn’t mind. The solitude was a welcome change from the busy hustle of life in Europe as a merchant family. He’d always preferred keeping to himself, he realized, particularly after being exposed to so many grand dinners and events.
“Connections, Colin, connections,” his mother always reminded him.
But it was difficult for Colin to want to do anything that warranted an excessive amount of talking, smiling, and in general forcing polite conversations with people he knew really didn’t care for small talk. It was part of why he liked the West
so much. No one here was afraid to speak exactly what they thought, and physical appearance wasn’t so much a concern as practicality was. The openness of the community – to share, to laugh, to fight, to hate – was something he was unaccustomed to, and indeed, at times it did alarm him.
But it was a good kind of experience. He quite liked it, though he allowed that he would need more time to acclimate to being that open and straightforward with his own emotions and thoughts.
Back in the Bandit Kid saloon, Colin returned the greetings with a quick smile and word of greeting before glancing around the dingy wooden interiors, worn down over countless raucous meetings. His parents had been quite adamant that he avoid the saloon, particularly at night. Tonight was his first time entering the saloon after sunset.
“Colin!” He heard his name being called from a corner to his left and turned to see two copper miners waving him over.
“Amos, Blaze,” he said, nodding a greeting at the men. They were large with beards that rivaled the size of their personalities, and had crow’s feet around their eyes that spoke of how frequently they laughed.
“How’s business been?” said Amos, waving at Colin to sit down at their table.
“Relatively slow this week,” Colin admitted, taking a seat and clasping his hands in front of him. Blaze had his hands wrapped firmly around his beer bottle, nodding thoughtfully as Colin recounted the week’s sales and customers.
“The amount of residents that are coming in to stay have been slowing down,” Blaze grunted in agreement. “But I’ve heard there’s a wagon train coming down our way, so you should get some good business then. Seems travelers like using our town as a resting post. I know Amy says she’s been having good business with her inn up north.”
Colin nodded. “That’s good – I’ll be looking out for that then. How have you gents been? Has the mining been good?”
Blaze and Amos exchanged glances, then shrugged. “Alright, I suppose,” Amos responded.
“Not much to be celebrating over,” Blaze was quick to clarify, “but wasn’t a complete loss overall. Just far too many wannabe miners that have been squatting on our stake – pesky little varmints, they are,” he scowled.
Colin made a small noise of understanding – the mining scene was often overrun with far too many miners. And they didn’t all follow the rules when it came down to staking claims.
“Did it sort itself out?”
Amos twisted his lips before booming out a loud laugh. “I suppose it did, in a funny way of sorts. Colin leaned forward, intrigued.
“So Blaze and I,” Amos waved at his partner, “were out there mining.” He paused a bit to think. “And we were probably only, say,” he scratched his beard, “a little smidge away from our stake, washing our pots an’ pans an’ things. And boom –” Amos made a huge motion with his hands, nearly taking off Blaze’s leather hat and knocking over his own beer in the process, “soon as we turn around there are these two skinny youngsters – not much older than you, mind – that were tryin’ at our stake.”
“So we hollered at them,” Blaze picked up the story, “and got in a mite bit of a scuffle trying to chase ‘em off our claim, but of course, they wouldn’t leave. Newcomers, most likely,” he scowled. “Never know them rules for staking claims.”
“And so,” Amos cut in, seemingly even more excited to relay the next part of the story, “just as we were about ready to let them have it, the lady herself walks on by.”
Blaze made a noise of disagreement. “She ain’t a lady – toughest cowgirl I ever did see. Walks, talks, and shoots like a man, that one.”
Colin was somewhat lost. He had heard tales of a woman working closely with the sheriff – something previously unheard of, even in all his travels. Copper Creek, it seemed, was legendary for her.
“The one that everyone’s been talking about around town? Recently beat out a couple of miners at their own shooting game?”
Amos and Blaze nodded. Blaze took a swig of his beer and wiped his mouth before replying. “Moonshine Mack, that one.”
Moonshine Mack. The name was only somewhat familiar to Colin – he’d only ever heard the name whispered reverently by men on street corners, or scoffed at in disgust by ladies dressed in their Sunday best.
“Yeah. I’ve been told she’s the best sharpshooter in town?”
“For a girl,” Amos started, but Blaze cut him off.
“Even as a man,” he disagreed. “Can’t nobody shoot as well as Mack.” He paused, looking around as if to see if anyone was eavesdropping, then dropped his voice to a low, coarse whisper. “Legend has it she learned from Calamity Jane herself.”
Colin nodded, mildly impressed. But he hadn’t seen the girl himself, yet. She remained nothing more than a tale, nothing more than a story to him. “See her around often?” he queried.
“Brings me back to our story,” Amos boomed, having nearly forgotten that he was in the middle of relaying a tale. “So as we were arguing with these young, pesky fellas, in walks Moonshine Mack herself. And she warn’t no pretty, blushing daisy either – walked straight up to us –”
“Imagine that,” Blaze chuckled, interrupting Amos, “a tiny little gal like herself walking up to four grown men like us.”
“So she walked straight up to us and asked, all mannerly and the like, ‘Somethin’ wrong here, boys?’” Amos was shaking with amusement, laughter dancing in his eyes as he spoke. “And,” he wagged a finger at Colin, “I reckon those boys ain’t never seen a lady before in their lives, by the way they was reacting.”
“Droppin’ all those ma’ams and misses like hot potatoes,” Blaze laughed at the memory. “But that’s the thing about Mack, y’see – she don’t like being called a lady or missus.”
“Really?” Colin had to say he was completely intrigued now. “All this talk, and I don’t even know the girl.”
“Really?” Amos looked surprised. “Never seen her walkin’ around here? She likes the Bandit Kid. Can hold her beer like a man,” he added admiringly.
“Don’t usually come here,” Colin shrugged. “My mother and father would have a fit.”
“Hmmm, lemme see.” Blaze craned his neck, looking around at the groups of people in the cramped space. Colin twisted around to look as well.
“She’s here?”
“Usually is,” Amos commented, swirling his beer. “Likes to come out with the sheriff and her boys down at the office.”
Blaze tapped Colin with a rough jab in the shoulder. “There. Lookit there. Right near the bar.”
Colin squinted, trying to make out exactly where Blaze was pointing. His gaze landed on a distinctly small figure, garbed in flannel and jeans.
“That’s her? The one in the flannel between two men?” said Colin. Blaze grunted the affirmative. Colin kept looking at the figure. Had she not been so small, he might’ve mistaken her for a man, particularly given the way she dressed. The outfit didn’t outline any of her curves in the way dresses would, and she slouched like no other. The only real giveaway of her gender was her dark brown hair, bound in a neat braid that reached the middle of her back.
He was slightly disappointed at not being able to see her face, but then she turned slightly, to address the man on her left, and he was able to capture a brief glimpse. Her face, too, was small, though her chin was sharp and her cheekbones even sharper.
“She doesn’t look particularly menacing,” Colin commented.
“Wait till you see her,” Amos reassured him. “Dead serious face she has – could scare the pants of a grown man, I tell you.”
“I’ll be looking to that, then,” said Colin. He tucked that information into the back of his mind, nodding, though he was certain he wouldn’t be seeing her face-to-face for a while, if ever.
How wrong he was.
***
It didn’t happen on his watch. Colin Hayes was a lot of things: the son of a wealthy merchant, an adventurer, and a younger brother. But he most certainly wasn’t a murderer. He ha
d done a lot of bad things, most notably setting insects on fire as a young boy, but never something to this degree.
The cold efficiency of the act had shocked him almost as much as finding the body. He had happened on the victim by accident while heading back towards the storage shed to restock the tin sluicing pans.
The stretch of land from the shed to the store wasn’t long, though it was quite wide. And so on his way back from the shed, tin pans stacked high in his arms, he’d noticed an odd sort of lump within a patch of scraggly grass and cacti that normally wasn’t there.
It had piqued his curiosity – and he sincerely wished it hadn’t.
The tin pans he’d been carrying all clattered to the ground when he was close enough to see what it was.
The victim was female, likely no older than her mid-twenties and lying in an ungainly heap. Her clothing was rumpled, disheveled and torn, laced with dirt and dust. But worst of all about the whole thing was the steady iron-red trickle of blood that came from the side of her head. He shivered uncomfortably, cold ice trickling down his spine in unwelcome waves.
Colin had never seen anything like it. It wasn’t as if he was a delicate daisy – he’d seen a dead man before, many years before. But a woman? Women weren’t usually victims, and in the time he’d been in Copper Creek he’d never even heard of anyone getting murdered. Sure, there had been the occasional gunfight, but those had been more for show than anything, and usually nobody got hurt past a little bleeding.
He approached the still figure, inching forward on the tips of his toes. He looked around at the vast open space around him, suddenly struck with the thought that the murderer might still be in the vicinity. He could see nothing but the dust and tumbleweed roiling around him.
“Hello? Miss? Can I help you?” He waved his hand around, hoping to elicit some sort of response, anything, from the girl. There was none. She remained as still and silent as the yawning sky and fear stabbed deeper into Colin’s chest.
Sunlight and Shadows Page 19
